Finale
by My Vantilene
Summary: Dave and Rose's final moments before their inevitable death. Dave x Rose because in Post-scratch, they're not related that way.  I do what I want.


Disclaimer: Does Xirg need to choke a Sakura?

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_When duty calls, you answer. Yup. That's the excuse I'm sticking with for this atrocity. Feel free to flame. _

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The night sky is an inky black wasteland stretched around the young millionaire as he twists off the cap of a strawberry Faygo and the fragrant carbon is set free in its clutches. A hiss heralds the drink's unveiling like the guttural sound of a threatened raccoon.

"Come and get it." He says, advertising the fizzing beverage with a few shakes of the bottle.

The young lady next to him is adjusting the strap of her tight-fitting, amethyst dress, a fraction of a smirk playing on her darkly painted lips. She stands from the white, backless chair, walking across the alabaster tiled balcony in small, dainty steps and reaches for the offered concoction. The man pulls it back right as her hand gets too close.

"Uh-uh-uh." He taunts, seemingly mirthless. But she's adapted to his ironic sense of humor, as it mirrors her own to some degree. She swears the laughter brimming right under the surface of his poker face is tickling her skin as she elevates on her tip toes to reach the drink. He just lifts it higher.

"And here I thought you were playing host for real, Dave." She lightly rebukes with sprinkled sarcasm.

"I'm a fresh host, Rose. The raw kind of fresh. You've got enough best-sellers under your belt to avoid skipping the check, right?"

"What do you take?"

"Well, I don't know. Visa. American Express. Discover. Definitely not Master Card…"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and plunged into his pillowy lips for a long, savoring kiss.

"How's that?"

"Fine." He says in a quiet voice.

"I'm sorry. This night's not going to be the party you planned, is it?" she drops her hand from his hair and brings both arms to rest frigidly in place by her side, "You should be at home, with Dirk. I know that's what you want, to spend your last moments with him."

"And you should be at home with Roxy. But we both know it's too late for regrets." He takes her hand in his and massages the back with his thumb, "We both screwed up raising them, maybe it's better this way."

"Better to let them remember our backs instead of our faces?" she rips her hand away from him and rubs her left arm. She spins around and rests both her elbows on the railing, cupping her chin in her hands. Her violet eyes scan the sky for any stars, but shut in disappointment. Regret creeps into her chest, but she didn't buy a plane ticket back. She knew she wouldn't need it. There was little to no hope she'd make it out of the hotel room alive.

"Hey, baby, I don't like this anymore than you. You don't think I hate leaving him behind like this?" he slips in next to her, sliding his arm around her waist, "You don't think I wanted our kids to meet in person? That maybe we could be some big happy family or something? That we'd enjoy a cliché happy ending with fridges full of swords and wizard figurines?"

There was silence on his girlfriend's end.

Then, "You saw her…didn't you? When we kissed, you saw the girl with the glasses?"

"And you saw the douchebag with the glasses."

"I did not. I stopped seeing him the night of the fire. But you haven't let go."

"Gosh, Rose, I don't even know her name. And I thought we were on the same page. She could be a telepathic stalker for all I know!"

"I'm not hung up on it, just curious. Because you always get so defensive when I bring her up…"

"Rose. I get defensive because I don't want to lose you. They'll be here for us soon, and the truth is, I'd rather be here with you then with Dirk."

"Yes, I don't reek of discarded expectations, do I? You don't want to be reminded of the ways you've failed when they come."

"What about you? I'm sure you have your own ulterior motive to coming here tonight."

"It's true, I didn't do my best to be there for Roxy. I wish I could, but it all comes out as a passive aggressive notion and it feels like everything just crumbles in my hands. But I don't feel that way with you, Dave. I feel it more appropriate to die with you then her."

"So, we're both just running away."

"Yes. But do we have to think about this now? Why don't you put on one of your albums? We can dance, just like old times."

"You got it, Princess." He finally hands over the Faygo and strolls to the turntables on the far corner of balcony. He pops in one of the only love songs he's ever recorded and turns to his lady. It's corny and stupid, because he wrote it when he was in high school, where his music was maybe a little _too_ ironic and he had first met Lalonde.

"Now shut your perfumey mouth, and show me what you got."

Normally, the command would warrant a fast-paced dance with an obscenely unnecessary amount of grinding. But this dance isn't like old times, and they both know it. The song is as fast as his others, but they treat it like a slow song, swaying calmly together as Rose rests her head against his shoulder, fitting into the nook perfectly.

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_Let's make assumptions_

_About things we know to be true_

She's soaks his suit with tears as her chest convulses without control and her dry, desperate sobs rack her prone frame.

_White chalk is white_

_Jackets are warm_

_If you poke a bee's nest_

_They're all going to swarm_

He runs his fingers through her short, blonde hair and ironically doesn't shed a tear.

_Redundancy is redundant_

_Pancakes are good_

_If you have grape Kool-Aid_

_Don't go to the hood_

Of course, for a cool guy like Dave, it'd be expected that he would ironically not cry, so for true irony, his sobs become as heart-wrenchingly loud as her own. Irony is the only reason. Not because his cool mask is chipping. And the song itself is loosing a few rungs of irony and gaining sincerity.

_I've never met anyone else who could keep up_

_I've never met anyone else_

_Who could speak my language _

_Something tangy and foreign, like Welsh_

Man, that was some cheesy irony. He rebukes himself mentally since it's been a long time since he's heard this particular number and he forgets what a tool he was back then. Of course, that fleeting shame is buried under all the other sorrows.

_I've never loved another like her_

_I've never loved another _

_Who danced to my heart's beat_

_Something you don't learn from your mother_

They both stop swaying and he holds her closer, and she holds him tighter.

_She's always keeping me guessing_

_With a knowing grin_

_With a welded-closed mouth_

_With secrets she's dying to let out of her skin_

He rubs her back comfortingly, hoping for the end to come swiftly. He doesn't think he can handle hearing past him insensitively rap for another second. He just wants to die so he can wake up on Derse finally. It won't be so bad, really. Dirk and Roxy are both Derse dreamers, as well. He won't be that far away from him.

_I know she wants me_

_So bad_

_Like a shining dream_

_I've already had_

He knows it's a lie, though. He's never woken up there, his dreamself might be already dead, or he soon will be upon arrival.

_Like a collective wish_

_Screaming from all the lady's hearts_

_Like she's a severed engine_

_And I have all the parts_

The door to the hotel room is suddenly thrust open. Rose and Dave don't run, or try to escape, or look for cover, or even acknowledge the intruders outside of their tightening grip on each other. They both have shaky beliefs in Derse, and there's a possibility they're going to die just like everybody else.

_I'm going to protect the shit out of my girl_

_She'll be feeling safe in this arm_

_While I'm slashing danger with the other_

_As long as she's with me, there'll never be harm_

Dave knew he made the song ironically, but that irony practically ascends to god tier irony as Rose is ripped from his arms and shot twice in the chest. Her blood explodes in the air like a barbarous geyser and Dave can feel his entire body giving weigh to violent tremors. Her blood is all over him. There'll never be harm, past Dave says. But past Dave is a shitty liar. He should've jumped in the way of that. He should've done something.

They go for him next, slicing his head clean off with a glinting blade.

_My blood is red_

_Her tears are blue_

_I'd die for her_

_But I guess that was obvious too. _


End file.
